Milady Vampire
by Kamikashi
Summary: As Holmes and Watson return from a concert, they stumble into the greatest secret of London and the creatures of the night. Alternate Universe and Timeline. Retells the series from the time after "A Study in Scarlet" and before "The Sign of the Four".
1. Preface: Eternal Moon – Watson’s letter

**AN: This is my first Sherlock Holmes story. Please tell me if you like it or not and why.**

**Disclaimer: I cannot own Sherlock Holmes since I was born in 1985. But I own Sarah Ann Llewellyn.**

**Now Enjoy "Milady Vampire".**

* * *

**Preface: Eternal Moon – Watson's letter**

In the Archives of the British Royal Dispatch service, there is an old metal box marked with the Name Abbreviation of Maj. J. H. W., M. D., Nt Fs, crammed with papers at least 60 years old and placed under the sharp eyes of the officer of the watch. On top of these papers lies a numbered key. Whoever solves its mystery will find this peculiar hand-written letter in the Royal Archives, along with several old journals, diaries and notes as well as a chronicle written on glass.

_London, June 1939_

_To the one who finds these diaries and their copies written on glass, my congratulations.  
As my friend would have said, it would need a considerable amount of skill in the art of deduction to find these very private accounts of my own and my friends' lives in the depths of the Royal Archives._

_But first things first… My name is John Hamish Watson, I was born in 1852 in a small village in Northumberland and I graduated 1878 as a Doctor of Medicine at the University of London. I served in the Afghan war campaign as army surgeon up to the rank of a Major of the Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers until I was wounded at my left shoulder and limb at the Battle of Maiwand which in the end stopped me from further being of use to the crown in battle, and was sent home.  
1881 I met the very peculiar figure of Sherlock Holmes, Esq. in London. The account of this fateful meeting which first made us fellow-lodgers and later on friends can be read in my "Study in Scarlet" first published 1881 in the Strand Magazine, under the pen-name of Arthur Conan Doyle._

_I have published several adventures of my friend throughout all my life in the very same magazine, leaving out several facts which I was unable to recount to the public. This was done to protect my friend's and his family's privacy, which held so many peculiar and bizarre facts that they should not be published forever.  
It is my hope that they should never come to light but keeping them with me would eventually have leaded me to insanity. So I wrote them down nonetheless. If I had kept them in my mind and thus taken these secrets to the grave, they would have hung heavily upon my conscience and eventually be lost forever._

_You, who has found the legacy of one who had to be named a "Boswell" however, should now know the truth from my very own hands which I trusted to these pages. No-one else who was not familiar with the complete facts of the matters of the families of Holmes, Watson and last but not least the esteemed House of Llewellyn of Anglesey indeed had read and known these pages before.  
When you are holding this in your hands, however, be aware that I and many others in these diaries have already ended their earthly ways. Anyone else is beyond the reach of normal human beings and these accounts are now mere fleeting memories upon the vast history of the world.  
Perhaps in that distant day, the mind of men will be ready to read of the truth I here describe. If it is not, may God have mercy on your soul, for you will read of things you believed to be fairy-tales and myth, but you may be rest assured that they are actual reality. _

_To you, my dear reader, I have but one wish, the last will of a writer who wished to keep these truths secret. Please do not publish these accounts unless you like to declare them as works of fiction. In any case, it is unlikely that anyone will believe it at all, for truth will always be stranger than fiction.  
Use them for your own enjoyment and to find out the true story of Mr Sherlock Holmes, Esq., of Holmes Manor, Yorkshire; Lady Sarah Ann Llewellyn of Anglesey and myself.  
Yours faithfully and very truly_

_John H. Watson, M. D._

_P.S.: If you wish to find my friends, se__arch the fiery islands whose name is that of a bird in Portuguese._

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**AN: ****The stories I publish for the Sherlock-Holmes-Universe are essentially Alternate Timeline, which I hope is now clearer to you, my dear readers. The following story, Milady Vampire, is set in the winter after "The Yellow Face", 1884 and is the exposition for the Alternate Timeline.  
The idea of making ACD Watson's pen-name I found in the wonderful story "The Discovery of Heart" by Psyche0610.**

**To you, Addy-kun, THANK YOU for your advice on Victorian English.**


	2. Prologue: Dark Moon

**AN: This is my first Sherlock Holmes story. Please tell me if you like it or not and why.  
Disclaimer: I cannot own Sherlock Holmes since I was born in 1985.**

**Now Enjoy "Milady Vampire".**

* * *

**Prologue: Dark Moon**

_Lunar Age: 0 (zero). Wednesday 17-12-1884_

It had become late. Holmes and I were returning home from a client who had shown his gratitude by inviting us to his personal loge in the Royal Opera House… by foot, for our cab broke just a few metres from our home in Baker Street.

"Really, cabs these days, I wonder how they keep their customers, Holmes."

"By–"  
A suffocated cry of a woman, followed by the sound of something falling to the ground cut the silence of the night, just in front of us. Without a second thought, the two of us ran into the direction of the sound.

What we saw was likewise disturbing and fascinating. In the twilight in front of 221A, two shadowy figures were intertwined in a twisted way which spoke of no good. Blood was dripping to the floor as the smaller of the two had deeply embedded his jaws into the taller one's shoulder. "What the…" Startled by the sound of my friend's voice right behind him, the assailant let his victim go and, in a flashing somersault, he was gone.

With a choked and miserable sound, the victim fell backwards into Holmes, leaving a red smear of blood on his white shirt. Now we could see the unfortunate soul who happened to be hurt on our doorstep. "Oh my goodness… A woman…" No matter how pale and blood-smeared she was the figure which, if she would have stood upright tower even my companion, was a beautiful woman with dark hair and a delicate frame. "What happened here, Holmes?"

My friend however wasn't listening at all; instead he prevented our fateful charge from meeting the cold street floor. "What did he do to you…?" Without averting his gaze from her, he said: "The case on the floor, Watson, pick it up please."

I collected said case from the floor while he gently lifted the unknown female from the ground, carrying her to our door. "The door, my dear Watson…"

"Oh, yes…" Feeling rather stupid, I hurried to our home's entrance, unlocking it. Something was really out of place, but first, we had an injured to take care of. With Holmes right at my tail, I went up the stairs and unlocked the door of our lodgings. Meanwhile, my friend's clothing had been soaked a great deal with that poor woman's blood at his right sleeve and chest. After placing the mysterious case on the sofa, I hurried to get my emergency bag and came just in time as my companion placed her on the bed in the guest room. "Allow me."

"Of course… I am going to change clothes." he answered and left the room.

He might have been the stronger one of us, but this was not a matter of deduction yet nor was his physical skill needed anymore. No matter who she was, she was injured, and judging from the blood stains on my friend's full evening dress, she lost enough blood to be a critical case. This really was not a job for Sherlock Holmes, consulting detective, but for me. Quickly but carefully I removed the long black cloak and the ripped silken shirt of my patient. Astonishingly, she didn't wear a corset, but a corsage. From the amount of blood spilled, I had presumed a larger, much viler wound, but all I could find were marks similar to a tiger's bite and some long scratches. "How bizarre…" All these wounds revolved around her right shoulder, the bite marks on front and back of it, into the vein under the clavicle. Hurrying, I cleansed the wounds and bandaged her. "Phew… all done. Good Lord, what are you doing?"

After changing into more clean and comfortable clothes and returning, my companion had taken said clothes and had begun to search through them for any evidence of the identity of our guest. What he found however, was not satisfying, judging by his mild, soundless cursing. Only one word was audible, "Women!" Without turning his gaze to me, he answered: "I am trying to find out who our guest is… ah!" Triumphantly, he pulled out of one of the oilskin pockets of the cloak a fine silver watch. "Finally a clue. Let's go to the study."

As we sat in our armchairs, he examined the watch. "That is not a woman's watch…"

"Can you open it?"

He grunted in disappointment. "No. It's locked. But, judging from the watch and her clothing, our secretive guest is not a poor member of London's society. Most likely, she is the daughter of one of our more established families. And she is a lover of music."

"How do you know that?" I asked, perplexed.

He gave the watch to me and picked up the case from earlier. "Look at it, feel its weight. This watch is not made of silver, but of platinum, and there is a coat of arms engraved on both sides of it. It lies within the bounds of possibilities that the watch was originally of a male relative." He inspected the case. "The same coat of arms is on this case. And remember her clothing. A commoner wouldn't be able to buy herself a silken everyday shirt, a jacket and skirt of Oxford wool cloth and a coat of this quality. Also, her shoes are handmade."

I stared at the watch. It reminded me of something. "Wait…"

"Hum? Something I oversaw?"

"Well, I've seen this coat of arms on her before… She wears a necklace with the very same one on a medallion. It looked like enamel. What is this case anyway?"

Said case was about three feet long, seven inches high and one-and-a-half feet in width. "For a suitcase it's too small and for a violin case it's too long and wide…" Holmes turned it so that the side on which it was to be opened faced him. "By the measures and its weight, I bet it's a viola transportation case. And she truly values her instrument."

"And where did you get that, my friend?" Really, that man beat me everyday if it was not about medicine.

Chuckling, he took the watch from me and gave me the assumed viola case. "Try to open it."

I did as he said, but a quick gaze to the main fastener showed me why it was a futile attempt. "A seal lock… and it's…"

"The very same coat of arms as the watch and the medallion you described. We may most likely exclude the possibility that the case is of the attacker. Our guest is truly not a poor one. A young lady on which we found the very same coat of arms trice. And she is unmarried."

"She did not wear a ring?"

Holmes got up and began searching his books. "No. Would you be so kind and please check her eye colour? And don't forget to bring that medallion, please."

Puzzled, I went back to the guest room, turned the lamp higher and opened her left eye lid. Her gaze was unmistakeably that of someone unconscious. But the eye which caught mine was of the strangest colour I've ever seen. Astonished, I closed the eye again gently. Carefully picking up the medallion, I returned to the study where my friend stood at his desk with the newest volume of »Burke's Peerage and Landed Gentry«, trying to decipher the coat of arms from the watch.

"Do you have it?" I nodded and stepped beside him, placing the medallion on the book. "Thank you… it is truly not easy without the colours…"

Noticing a detail on the crest, I sighed. "Hmm… but it is not going to be easy anyway. The rank crown is that of a British Viscount. And there are many of that rank in our realm."

"True enough. But it also limits the number of families, for only the highest rank will be depicted in the coat of arms. Let's see… A Viscount with a plain black shield with a silver raven on a rocky hill in profile, soaring up… the bird presents a stick or something like that in its beak…"

I took a look at it with the help of Holmes' convex lens. "Looks like a Welsh leek to me."

Holmes arched his brows. "I've never seen a patriotic Welsh in our times. Let me see." He took the lens from my hand. "But nevertheless, you are right, it's a leek. This must be an older coat of arms then… it was certainly not granted after the last Act of Union. Most likely it is far older." Flipping through the pages of the almanac and various other kinds of books on heraldry and giving the lens back to me, he asked, "Can you make out the motto?"

Again, I examined the medallion. "Hmm… »Nil admirari. Nil desperandum. Nil dedendum. « That's really… rare."

"Indeed, but it really shortens the list… Ah!" With triumph gleaming in his eyes, my friend opened the almanac on the file of the Viscounts of Anglesey. "There they are…"

However, I was sceptical. "Really? Just by mentioning the motto?"

"No, because it was this particular motto… one of the longest in the realm, the motto of the Llewellyn family of Anglesey. Look." He placed the medallion beside the imprinted coat of arms depicted beside the Llewellyns' entry.

A single glance told me that he was right again. They were identical. "Very well, so our guest is most likely a Welsh peer's daughter."

Holmes darted his eyes to me. "I doubt it. The current titleholder is a woman of twenty-five years, according to _Burke's_ and _Debrett's_."

"Wait… our guest _is_ a woman of circa twenty-five years!" I exclaimed.

Holmes nodded. "So you noticed too. I think she IS the current 15th Viscount of Anglesey, The Right Honourable Sarah Ann Llewellyn. At least the last revision of these books say that the Llewellyn family is practically extinct, with the last title holder being its sole survivor. I need to think." He picked up his pipe, lit it and sat down in his favourite armchair in the adjoining living room.

I glanced over the article. "How ironic… their motto surely suits them. »Never wonder, never desperate, never forfeit. « Family traces back to medieval times… But their letter patent is truly unusual too… absolute primogeniture and the right to choose the heir." Puzzled, I went down to the part of the entry on Lady Llewellyn herself. "Good Lord!"

"What is it now? Read it aloud."

"You were right in everything. Sarah Ann Llewellyn is known in London society for three things: First, she is six feet four inches tall; Second, her eyes are purple and Third, she is the least eligible bachelor girl in all London. As I checked her eye colour, I thought first that they are dark blue but they have a reddish hue…" I trailed off.

"Occupation?"

I scrolled down. "What… She is a world-class string instrument player!" As if it was not puzzling enough to live with my friend and companion, our involuntary guest was one of the established talents of music.

"This would explain the Viola case." He got up again, putting off his pipe and fetched one of our collections of Assorted Sensational Literature from his desk. After a few minutes, he showed me an article of _The Times_ from a few weeks ago. "Look. It is definitely her."

The article was a review on a Cello concert in late November. The author of the article was rather puzzled that a _Woman_ was able to play the cello better than the men in the orchestra. I turned to my friend, the almanac on Peerage in hands. "But why was she here in Baker Street? _Burke's_ says that she lives at 145 Piccadilly when she's in London."

"For this question I lack information, unfortunately." He shook his head. "We first should try to get her well enough to answer some questions."

"Are you not going to inform Scotland Yard?"

"That would be about as wise as leaving her in the street. Whoever attacked her knew her ways and the ones of the Police… and he had no fear of them. Just by chance we were able to stop him… we disturbed him." Knowing my friend, the only visible sign of his frustration were his lips which he was pressing together. "But it truly makes no sense, she has no enemies, neither political, nor by blood or on stage. So who would want her death?"

"This is beyond my understanding." I got up and placed the book on the couch table. Afterwards, I rang for Mrs Hudson.

"What are you doing?" he demanded.

"Remember, she is a lady, and no-one of us got a nightshirt for her. I'll ask Mrs Hudson to dress her for the night." Sometimes, I really wondered what he was thinking of, clearly not of things which are as obvious as a nightshirt.

Mrs Hudson tapped in, dressed for the night already. "You rang, gentlemen?"

I turned to the landlady. "Forgive me for the late hour, Mrs Hudson, but… well, see for yourself." After showing her our guest and a short explanation (leaving out who she exactly was), she just nodded in understanding and rushed to her own rooms. A few minutes later, our guest lied in bed, properly dressed for the night. "Thank you, Mrs Hudson."

She just smiled. "It was nothing, Doctor. I hope the poor thing will be better soon enough. Good night, gentlemen." With that, she was off.

The man in the living room however was the complete opposite of myself now. A nervous energy was cumulating itself around my friend while my only thoughts were now getting out of my full evening dress and my bed. "Holmes, I know that you are not going to go to sleep anyway, so you could also do me a favour."

Stopping his nervous pacing, he faced me again. "Which is?"

"Watch her keenly for me, will you? It would simplify matters if you do. If anything gets worse, wake me please."

"Of course. Good night." And so he was gone.

The rapping of a chair told me that he really did as he was said. "Good night to you too. And also to you, Milady." Afterwards, I went to bed.

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**AN: In Astronomy, Lunar Age is the number of days passed after the new moon/dark moon, making the new moon Lunar age 0.  
A Seal lock is a lock in which you press a metal or stone seal (usually a seal ring) as key, making them difficult to open by other means.  
The Date is an actual New moon, Look: www.rodurago.de/en/index.php?sitedetails&linkcalendar**

**To you, Addy-kun, THANK YOU for your advice on Victorian English.**


	3. Moon 1: The Nature of our Guest

**AN: This is my first Sherlock Holmes story. Please tell me if you like it or not and why.**

**Disclaimer: Again, I cannot own Sherlock Holmes since I was born in 1985.**

**Now Enjoy "Milady Vampire".**

* * *

**Moon 1: The Nature of our Guest**

_Lunar Age: 3. Saturday 20-12-1884_

Nearly three days had passed and our guest was still asleep as if she was a corpse. She didn't even move a single finger. Both Holmes and I even began to revolve a routine around her motionless figure, me changing her bandages in the morning and the evening, and Holmes, ever the restless one, taking the "night watch". But slowly I began to worry since she had touched neither food nor drink the last two days. If she would not wake up soon, it would be her end indeed. I tried to bury the thought with the determination to save her, but it was not gone. In this mood, I removed the bandages on this morning for changing them.  
"How odd…" Once removed, I noticed that _all_ her wounds were gone completely. I stood up, turned around to my right and called Holmes, but then a pair of inhumanly strong hands grabbed my left forearm. Before I could react, I felt a strong pain in my arm and as I turned my head back to her, I screamed in shock, disbelieve, fear and pain. The woman I had been taken care of the last few days and who had been about as lively as a comatose had bolted upright and deeply embedded her jaws into my forearm, sucking _my_ blood with glowing red eyes clearly visible in the dim room.

Holmes raced in, but before he could do a thing, the fuss was over. With a weird suffocated sound, she let me go and the glow in her eyes disappeared. Before falling unconscious again, she touched my wound, which simply… vanished.

We stood there in silence for a while, a bit overwhelmed by the occurrences. Finally, I found my voice again. "Can you imagine this? She bit me!"

"I've seen it," he remarked dryly. "Show me your arm please." I did as he demanded and he examined the place where a bite mark should have been. "This makes absolutely no sense. Anything else she did to you?" he asked, concerned.

I closed my eyes at the fresh and rather horrid memory. "Believe it or not, she drank some of my blood."

"Without leaving marks." He pointed at my forearm.

"That's not all. Her strength was inhuman. I was not able to move at all. And her eyes…" I shook my head, shuddering. "And then she made it all disappear. But I still feel… drained."

"Maybe some poison influence," Holmes suggested. "Have you felt a prick on your skin or maybe cut yourself with something in the last few days?"

Again I shook my head. "No. But as she bit me, my skin was clearly pierced by something. I felt it. My blood was sucked out of my veins!"

My friend stepped beside her, examining her more closely. "Where are her wounds? There is something wrong with her – and her teeth." He pointed towards our guest's half-open mouth and her healed shoulder. "I assume your calling earlier was about her lack of wounds then. Please take a look at these teeth; I doubt that they are real."

I merely nodded and took a look at her mouth. What I saw however provoked me to yell again. "Oh my god… She has _Fangs_! Like a tiger!" Carefully I tried to remove them, assuming they were some kind of trick. As my finger touched one of the long fangs, I accidentally cut my finger. "Ouch! They are real –" A single drop of my blood touched her lips as I was removing my hand from her mouth. Immediately, her tongue instinctively and greedily licked up the red liquor. I stared at her in disbelief, and so did Holmes. "Holmes… didn't she just…"

My companion didn't answer. Instead, he rushed outside, and moments later, he returned with a very thin book and a knife in hands. He was deep in thought and flipped through the book with an insane speed until he found what he sought. 'A greater amount to wake, huh? Let us test this…' he murmured.  
Slamming the book closed, he fetched my bottle of surgeon alcohol from the bedside table and rinsed his knife with it. "I am sorry, my dear Watson…" With this, he grabbed the knife tightly with the right hand by the blade until it bled, right into the woman's mouth. Then he reopened the cut hand and removed the blade with the other and placed the bleeding hand into her mouth.

"What the hell are you doing?" I demanded, horrified.

Her reaction followed nearly immediately, she bit his hand and sucked his blood. He shortly gritted his teeth, but then he answered: "Proving the greatest nonsense theory I ever had in my mind in all my life. A theory about the true nature of our guest."

"Which is?" I was puzzled, to say the least.

Before my friend could answer, our guest made another suffocated sound and awoke with a start, bolting upright. At the very same moment, she let Holmes's hand go, and with a startled yelp, she pressed her hands on her mouth. "Did-I-bite-you? I-am-sorry!! I didn't realize… Wait… where am I and who the good Lord are you?" All of this literally blurred out of her mouth in no time with a weakened voice. Noticing her rather indecent state of dress (nightshirt with the right shoulder exposed), she pulled up the blankets to cover up herself.

My friend simply smiled. "Indeed, where are my manners? You are in our flat, 221B Baker Street, and I am Sherlock Holmes. And this is my friend and companion…"

"John Hamish Watson, M. D.," I introduced myself, taking her right hand and kissing it. "It is a pleasure to meet you, Madam."

Our guest clearly was not one to be shocked easily. Her sharp gaze was meeting and matching Holmes's as she answered with straightened figure: "The Right Honourable Lady Sarah Ann Llewellyn, 15th Viscount of Anglesey. Thank you for saving me, gentlemen."

I stared at her in disbelieve. Her manner was somewhat unexpected; it suited her rank as a Peer but not her sex. She was a bit too direct and prideful for being a woman.

However, it didn't seem to trouble my friend at all as he answered, "At your service, My Lady." With his injured hand, he reached for her right and kissed it. A flash of light, and as my friend let her hand go, his hand was unharmed, even the blood smears were gone. He stared at it, displaying a shocked but intrigued face. "So I was right…" Then he met the gaze of Lady Llewellyn again. "You are a Vampire, My Lady."

As if the conclusion of my friend was a death sentence, the Viscount(ess) tried to get up, but with a weak yelp she fell back as her body protested against the overuse. Before I could act, Holmes placed his left hand on her clothed left shoulder. "Don't. You still lack the strength for moving, Milady." Then he removed his hand again.

"Holmes…" I could just barely believe my eyes. My friend, the one who mistrusted women in general and had an overall rather cold manner, did something as kind as comforting an injured woman and hindering her at doing something reckless. I turned to the young Peeress.

Immediately, her figure had sunken into an obvious posture of weakness and defeat. She sighed. "I guess you found me out, gentlemen. Care to explain your thoughts?"

Holmes closed his eyes. "I hoped at the bottom of my soul that I was mistaken, but… if all rational reasoning is to be excluded, the seemingly fantastic or unusual is reality. To proof my theory about your true nature, Milady, I even cut my hand, only to find myself first bitten and drained of my blood and then healed in an instant. Together with the facts that your physical strength is far greater than possible with your outward appearance, that you are weakened to this extreme by a rather average blood loss and eyes glowing red in the dark while you were attacking Watson in delirium, there was too much evidence that you are not a normal human being." His eyes snapped open again. "You are a Vampire, and a powerful one as well, for you do not fear the sunlight."

She smiled, smirked at him. "Congratulations, Mr Holmes for finding me out with a data base as meagre as 'General Vampire Myths of the West'." She pointed at the book on the bedside table and closed the nightshirt again.  
Afterwards, her face fell to a polite and neutral expression as she asked: "And now, please, would you be so kind to tell me where my crest medallion, my seal ring and my Viola is?"

I shuddered at the tone she was speaking with, cold enough to freeze River Thames on a hot summer day. Had she been screaming and shouting in anger, it would have been only half as terrible as this more-than-perfect display of a noble's perfectly well-educated manners. By searching her personal belongings and thus violating her privacy, we had voluntarily called upon her anger.  
Since Holmes didn't seem to have problems with this, I already wanted to apologize, but then he spoke, bowing his head. "Forgive me, my Lady, I wanted to know who you are and why you were attacked. Unfortunately, it seems like I was only able to detect your name and nature. So I used the coat of arms on your belongings to find your name in »Burke's Peerage«. The case, the two seals and your watch are now on my desk in the study."

The only visible sign of her anger were the fingers of her hands, etching, scraping into the blankets. But then, her grip on the cloth loosened. "Acceptable, Mr Holmes."

"Very well." He straightened himself again and focussed on her face. "But there was something else I found in your cloak, and that made me think."

"I am uncertain if I should like the sound of your voice right now Mr Holmes…" Again, it was this crisp, sharp voice in which she spoke, so similar to my friend which shocked me. I had no doubts in this very moment that she was dangerous and not to be underestimated.  
"Curiosity is good for your work but bad for your health if it was a lower-ranked Vampire than me. But I am not one of these blood-thirst-driven lunatic monsters. I am a proud Shinso, a High Daylight Walker. Also known as Pure-blood or Living Soul Vampire."  
In terms of intellect and self-control, she was clearly a worthy opponent to him, I thought.

Holmes however retrieved her cloak from a chair in the room. "Or in other words, a Vampire under Vampires, the epitome of a Vampire. But your cloak hid also another part of your identity. As I found your watch, I also found these." With this, he pulled out of another pocket of the cloak something black and shimmering.

As he showed it to us, I gasped in alarm and Llewellyn yelped, "No!"

Holmes smirked lightly and deviously. "Care to explain yourself, Milady?" In my friend's open palms laid three bundles of black raven wing feathers.

* * *

**AN: This type of Vampire was partly inspired by the Character Evangeline A. K. McDowell from Magister Negi Magi, which bases upon the oldest Vampire myths in East and West. Since there is only a description and not a real word for the highest ranking kind of Vampires in Western tradition, I used (and will use later on) the J****apanese word "Shinso", which means "true ancestor"(literally) or "Pure-blood/High Daylight Walker".  
I will explain in a later chapter the system of Vampires in this Alternate Universe.  
VALE! (Latin: See you again!)**

**To you, Addy-kun, THANK YOU for your advice on Victorian English.**


	4. Moon 2: Raven, Crow, Magpie

**AN: This is my first Sherlock Holmes story. Please tell me if you like it or not and why.**

**Disclaimer: Sherlock Holmes © Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. Sarah Ann Llewellyn, the Thieves' Guild, The Vampire Council and other OC © Kamikashi. Storyline © Kamikashi.**

**Now Enjoy "Milady Vampire".**

* * *

**Moon 2: Raven, Crow, Magpie**

_Holmes however retrieved her cloak from a chair in the room. "Or in other words, a Vampire under Vampires, the epitome of a Vampire. But your cloak hid also another part of your identity. As I found your watch, I also found these." With this, he pulled out of another pocket of the cloak something black and shimmering._

_As he showed it to us, I gasped and Llewellyn yelped, "No!"_

_Holmes smirked. "Care to explain yourself, Milady?" In my friend's open palms laid three bundles of black raven wing feathers._

* * *

Our guest breathed uncontrollably, and with a miserable sound, she fell into a dead faint. Immediately, the mocking smile dropped from my friend's face and he placed the feathers on the bedside table beside the Vampire book by _van Helsing _and his knife.

"What was that good for, Holmes?" I demanded with anger in my voice. "No matter if she is a Vampire, she is a patient right now, and it was irresponsible to shock her so much!" Carefully, I placed the covers over her again. In some way, in my shock and anger about the behaviour of my friend, I had gladly accepted that our guest was a Vampire.

Holmes stepped beside me, to the right side of the bed. "Do you realize that we have got the most dangerous and most skilled agent in all of London as our involuntary guest, my friend?"

I sighed. I _knew_ he was right. The wing feather of a raven was the "business card" of _The Raven_, a member of the most ancient surviving combine of thieves, burglars, assassins and »informants« (spies) in all of London, even Britain. The legendary _Thieves' Guild_, whose loyalties were only to themselves and The Crown. "To speak in more fanciful words, we stopped a fox from eating the Queen of London's magpies the other day…"

Holmes chuckled. "Indeed. However, I didn't expect to see Master Raven so soon again after we helped »The Guild« destroying a newer organisation, or, as they put it, one without honour. I am curious to hear from herself what the meaning of this one was, although… They do not engage in certain businesses."

"Indeed, gentlemen." I turned my head in surprise, as did Holmes. Llewellyn struggled to raise herself up again. "Forgive me my weakness, gentlemen, it seems like I lost a greater amount of power than it is convenient to me. Furthermore, most of my vampiric abilities are sealed." Her countenance was grim, telling us that the one who did this to her was a dead man. Longing for revenge and anger about being degraded and humiliated like this was written all over her face. "About our organization, we do not sell dishonourable services, such as degrading females or selling narcotics, we do not engage in blackmailing innocent or stealing from innocent and/or poor people, robbery and massacres. To ourselves, there are three crimes which will be paid with your life, stealing from another thief, disgrace and treason. Disgrace means engaging in a business outside of our _codex of honour_." This entire she spoke in a weak, trembling voice. "One who puts himself into disgrace is given free to be chased by the officials or people like you, Mr Holmes; or in other words, anyone you put behind bars by now is either one who is not a member of ours or someone who made enough mistakes in his career to be a risk." She closed her eyes and reopened them. "We cannot afford fools within our lines."

"For they will weaken the entire combine, or am I mistaken, Lord Raven?" my friend asked, a mischievous smile in his grey eyes as he turned up the lamp.

"You are not, Mr Holmes; but don't you dare to name me like that in here, without my mask." Although I felt a bit uneasy now, with her being a 'Vampire' and a Great Thief, I had to admire her. Even in her weakened state, she was able to keep up her dignity and masterful aura we had experienced only a few weeks ago at the Guild Hall.

Holmes bowed his head shortly and focussed his gaze on her eyes again. "Forgive my mistake, My Lady. But one has to wonder why you were in Baker Street at all."

The Peeress smiled tiredly. "It would be a pleasure to tell you, gentlemen, but first I would prefer to have some breakfast and something to regain my strength a bit." She turned to me. "If you don't mind, Doctor, I would appreciate it if you help me to my feet, for I would prefer it if I could have breakfast at the table. And also something to cover my decency would be very nice of you, gentlemen."

I was about to protest as I noticed her facial expression. Her features told clearly that denial was unacceptable. But again, Holmes caught me by surprise as he turned around to retrieve a dressing gown our landlady left the other day on the side board and placed it nonchalantly in Anglesey's hands. "My Lady."

"Thank you, gentlemen." The Viscountess nodded in a gesture of gratitude.

"My pleasure, My Lady." He went to the door. Turning his head back again, he said: "Watson, I would appreciate it if you would help your 'patient' here to get ready while I ring for Mrs. Hudson. When you are done with breakfast, meet me in the study, please." And so he was gone.

I turned to the peeress and helped her to her feet and into the dressing gown. "Is he not going to join us with breakfast, doctor?" she asked, curiosity dancing in her eyes.

Leading her to the dining table, I shook my head. "No, not if he is in this mood, but I cannot remember that he was ever _that_ troubled."

In the meantime, Mrs. Hudson had been swift in preparing a healthy breakfast for our guest and me. Unfortunately, the smell of her wonderful cooking was soon overshadowed by the smell of Holmes's strong tobacco. Upon noticing the smoke, Anglesey coughed. "What a dreadful smell… do not tell me he is a smoker."

I shook my head in regret. "I wish I could say otherwise, but he indulges himself in some more unhealthy habits. His usual excuse for smoking is that he needs it to think," I told her with a forced smile. To tell the truth I wished Holmes would stop these foolishnesses he put his body through, the tobacco being close to nothing compared to the narcotics he used on occasion.

"I must have been really desperate if I drew on his blood." she murmured, taking a bite of her eggs.

"What do you mean by this, Milady?" I asked, puzzled.

Our guest shook her head, focusing on her food once more. "Never mind, it is not important right now."

Seeing that she was not going to explain herself further, I concentrated on breakfast as well. "More tea?" I offered after she had emptied her cup.

"Yes –" Sweet but eccentric violin music seemed to make the smell of Holmes's tobacco smoke fade away as my friend filled the air with his enigmatic thoughts, manifested in these lost notes. As if drawn by invisible strings or magic, the young lady got to her feet, seeking out the source of the strange music who stood in the study. Holmes stood there, playing his cherished violin.

I stepped beside her and was surprised by the dazed look in her eyes. "A Stradivarius, third series… where did he…" Inspecting the room, the case on Holmes' desk caught her eye. "My viola…" Instantly, she walked over, unlocked the case and took out a fine viola and a black bow. After tuning it swiftly and listening to my friend's turbulent musical thoughts, she joined in, answering every time he was silent. It was the strangest kind of duet I had ever seen or heard in all my life, yet it held its own kind of beauty, like clouds chasing each other in the sky. Eventually, the music died in a skilful, melancholic solo of our guest.

I stood there in awe and, out of the blue, I couldn't help giving standing ovations. Holmes was as good as ever, but Lady Llewellyn displayed a skill on a level even many professionals were unable to achieve. "Marvellous!" I exclaimed. I couldn't remember _any_ string-instrument player I've ever listened to that talented.

With well-trained elegance, the musician bowed first to me and then to Holmes, paying him her respect. "Thank you very much, doctor. And you, Mr Holmes, I must say that it is a shame that you never even thought of pursuing the career of a professional violinist. A little more polishing your skills would be sufficient."

Holmes returned the bow in the fashion of a student bowing his head to his master. "Too much of a compliment, My Lady. I would never be able to reach you." said he in his usual flat voice. I wondered if her obvious talent made even him react humble.

She smiled, obviously amused at his modesty. "I take it you taught yourself, sir?"

This visibly 'struck a chord' in my companion and he arched a brow. "Yes. Why do you ask?"

As graceful as she could in her weakened state, she went back to his desk and placed the viola back in its case. As she turned to us, the smile had broadened into a devious grin. "I ask because in that case your level of skill is even more something to be called amazing."

Again my friend bowed his head in thanks, although I could see that it felt unusual to him to be praised by a woman. He placed his Stradivarius into its case. "Thank you, My Lady."

"I am only speaking the truth, sir." Making a rather unsteady footstep towards me, she suddenly lost footing and fell again into my friend, her face speaking of embarrassment.

My friend's expression was not the most stoic one either, for he asked in a rather uncomfortable voice as he helped her regaining her stance, "Are you all well, Milady?"

She made a sound so miserable that I was drawn to her in an instant. With our combined help, we managed to make the tall Peeress sit on the sofa. Breathing heavily, she answered, "Unfortunately, Mr Holmes, it seems like I am _not_ well… playing music with you put a strain on me I didn't anticipate."

Holmes sighed and sat down in an armchair opposite of our guest, and so did I. "My apologies, Lord Anglesey. I find it just… very difficult to accept that vampires actually exist in our world, and so I found myself drawn to the violin to ease the turmoil in my mind."

Llewellyn nodded in understanding and smiled mildly at him. "I know the feeling quite well, Mr Holmes. Everything seems to be less troublesome in a well-performed piece of music. Although some of my apprentices have another opinion."

"Apprentices?" asked I. "What kind of apprentices?"

She turned her eyes to me for a moment before she replied, "Some of the peerage and the better-suited families of our great city employ me as a music tutor for their offspring or sometimes themselves. This was also the reason why I was in Baker Street, for one of your neighbours' children is one of my pupils. I wanted to go to Oxford Street in order to get a cab as I was… assaulted." She bit her lip.

As always when presented with new facts, my friend's grey eyes gleamed with interest. Not in the peeress herself, mind you, he was never ever interested in a woman's elegance or beauty, of which Sarah Ann Llewellyn of Anglesey had plenty. She was, after all, a tall woman in her mid-twenties, with long and heavy, extremely dark brown hair and an admirable figure which spoke of a sportive nature. Her purple eyes seemed to glow in the gloomy winter air of our flat, and her long, fine hands spoke both of her profession as a musician and as a thief. The only flaw in her personality which made her a woman not of my taste was her deviousness, extreme pride and masterfulness, which showed in her facial structures, sharp-cut and proud, but with the elegant beauty and delicacy of a well-educated, attractive woman. She was, so to say, a strong character, a little too strong for my taste.

No, it was her case that drew Holmes attention to her. "How strange. How many people know this habit of yours? And how many know your teaching schedule?"

"Not many. Actually, it's only my Chamberlain and my direct subordinates at the Guild…" She counted four on her fingers. "…and these four are people I trust with all my life. Anyone else just knows at which times I am not at home."

"How can you be sure of your butler's loyalty?" I asked. "I remember from some of our cases that many servants would betray their masters for some extra guineas."

Holmes nodded in agreement. "Indeed. So why are you so confident of your butler's loyalty?"

The temperature in the study had seemed to drop about ten degrees as she glared at us. "This man, Lloyd Irving, had served my father already. And so his father did. His family serves mine for several generations already and I never offended him. I know this man all my life."

I wondered how many times we could get at the bad side of this woman on the same day. Of course, her professions, station in life and vampirism had produced a rather secretive nature to which intrusion into her affairs was at least something to dislike. Questioning the loyalty of her trusted chamberlain was another affront to this refined, »tamed« version of a Welsh temper. If looks could kill, both Holmes and I would now need a coffin.

Even Holmes noticed her annoyance and so he answered, "We just want to limit the number of suspects, my Lady. But I am most confident that it has to be someone who knows your daily routines. Hence the question who knows of your schedules and if you trust these people."

Anglesey sighed. "Well, there is always the possibility that someone shadowed my moves and learnt through this my routines. If so, the one who did so was either very lucky or very brave."

"Why? I know that »The Raven« is a title for an exceptional high Thief, but what is your rank within The Thieves?" I wondered.

In answer, she chuckled. "»The Raven« is the title of the High Lord of the Guild. Also, I am the Leader of all British vampires, The High Lord of the British and the London Vampire Council. Originally, the three organizations were separate, but worked together. However, as I am the leader of all of them, we joined forces officially. In any case, there is something I would like to ask of you, doctor."

The soft grin on her lips surprised me, confirming my suspicions about the quality of her beauty. Indeed, she was a beautiful _woman_, not a pretty _girl_. She was not innocent enough for being pretty and also too strong-willed to be called nice. "What can I do for you?" I asked then, a bit shocked by her open confession of her position within the children of the night, wondering how skilled she had to be if she made it at the meagre age of twenty-five to the top of The Thieves' Guild.

"Give me my necklace, a pen and some paper, please." It sounded like a wish, but her eyes spoke of command.  
Actually, the command was strong enough to stir up Holmes who quickly gathered the desired objects from his desk and gave them to her. "Milady." Afterwards, he sat down again; eyeing her with something I would have called distrust.

"Thank you." With a rather weak hand, she scribbled down some lines and gave both the note and the medallion to me.

"What is this?" Although the lady's handwriting was as clear as if it was printed, I couldn't read the note, for it was written in some obscure language I didn't recognize.

Holmes got up and collected his pen from her. "Allow me…" He took a short glimpse at the note. "This is Welsh, isn't it, My Lady?" he asked, suspicion on his face.

"Intriguing. I didn't know that there are actually Englishmen who still understand our lingua antiqua; or that there are people who at least can identify it correctly in our time. Yes, it is my native language, »y Cymraeg« (the Welsh language)."

Holmes sighed. "»Identifying« is the right word, Milady, for I am not proficient in the actual use of one of the Celtic languages of our kingdom, unfortunately." Scepticism filled his voice as he inquired, "Care to explain this note?"

"It's a letter to my chamberlain. Otherwise, the poor man would die of worries… and I definitely need some fresh clothes from home. It's not like your generous landlady is of the same size as I am." Anglesey gestured to her naked feet and ankles to proof her point.

"I see." I folded the letter and placed it in my watch-pocket. "And what am I now supposed to do, My Lady Viscountess?"

Exhaling audibly, she replied, "Doctor, I hope it would not be of too much trouble for you to go to my home and give this letter to Lloyd? He will know what to do. Use my crest to proof that you come with message from me, sir."

"Why is this so?" I was bewildered.

Staring on the floor, her face was unreadable as she said, "My butler is aware of my true nature and my secondary occupation. Thus he tends to be a little suspicious of messengers in my name unless they can proof that they came from me. That medallion you hold in your hands and the language of the note, doctor, is an irrevocable evidence of your sending. My father gave it to me long ago. I do not give it away lightly. And before you ask," she faced me now with a charming smile, "I'd prefer you to do this so that you, Mr Holmes, are able to listen to the rest of the incident."

My friend nodded in approval. "Excellent idea, Milady. Even the tiniest bit of information could be of great help."

Knowing that my confusion would only grow if I stayed any longer, I got up. "Very well then. I think I shall be back in about an hour. Holmes, My Lady…" With this, I left the study, put on my hat and coat, picked up my walking stick and left the house, hailing a hansom cab a bit later. After a short ride I reached 145 Piccadilly.

* * *

145 Piccadilly, W1, Mayfair, was certainly a fine neighbourhood for a noble to live. The house, named Warren House for some unknown reason, stood in the vicinity of the Hyde Park, Apsley House (The London home of His Grace The Duke of Wellington) and other stately homes.  
A combination of iron fences, brick walls and high hedges kept the eyes of the public out of the garden of the two-storey two-winged house. Its design and architecture was typical for a rich person's home built at the beginning of the century, the façades were covered with some honey-coloured stone, reminding me a bit of the Palace of Westminster. As I stepped through the high iron gates, I noticed that the wide alley to the house was lined with high trees, leafless of course due to the cold winter. To the left side of the house, another path ran to the back, probably to a private stable, judging from the sounds coming out of this direction. In front of the black door, which I reached over a short staircase made of the same stone as the façade, was a wide open space suited for carriages turning around.  
I rang, and, as appropriate for such a house, I was greeted by a young porter, who practically jumped out of his chair. "Good morning," said I.

"Good morning, sir. This is Warren House, Home to the Viscount of Anglesey. What is it that you desire from our master?" The youth asked with a bow. He was probably about seventeen years old.

I took the note from my watch-pocket and gave it to him. "Actually, I come with a message from your master for her Chamberlain."

"Please, come in then, sir." The porter unfolded the message and took a quick look at it. "Your name, sir?"

"Dr. John Watson," said I and handed him my card.

"Very well, Dr. Watson, please sit down over there while I bring this note to my father. He will certainly be delighted to hear of our Master." The letter in hand, he guided me to an upholstered bench in the open-spaced entrance hall and dashed off. Waiting I took a look at my surroundings. Marble, black and white, formed the floor and the staircase leading to the second storey, where a gallery with a white marble balustrade ran around. Several doors of dark, reddish wood, probably mahogany, were leading to the other parts of the house. The walls were covered with wooden panels. Opposite of me, just beside the doorbell on the left, stood the Porter's Chair, a yellow upholstered armchair. Between the doors to the right of it hung a very large portrait of an officer of the Royal Navy in a rather modern uniform with the rank insignia of a Commodore. A part of me wanted to get closer to eventually find out who was depicted in such a spectacular fashion, especially since directly opposite of it hung a life-sized portrait of the current master of the house, but then the young porter returned with another man, who I presumed to be his father and the chamberlain, judging from his outward appearance and the general air of a servants' chief-of-staff which revolved around him. As I tried to get up to greet him, he declined, saying, "A servant should not make a guest rise. Dr Watson, I presume." He bowed to me.

Nodding, I answered, "I am. And with who do I have the pleasure to speak with?"

He bowed once more. "Welcome to Warren House. I am Lloyd Irving, the Chamberlain and Deputy Keeper of Grounds of the esteemed House of Llewellyn. My son here said you had message from our beloved master and showed me a note you gave him." Hastily, the adolescent placed the message in his father's expecting hands. "To your seat, Alexander."

"Yes, sir." The porter sat down in his chair again.

Turning back to me, he demanded, "And why should I believe that this here is from our esteemed Lady?"

The man was indeed as paranoid as our client had described, so I produced the medallion from my pockets and handed it to him. "I wonder if you recognize this… She warned me of your suspicion of messengers, but I didn't believe that it is _that_ deep-seated."

He gasped as he saw the necklace and bent over again. "Serving my master made me careful. Welcome again sir, and thank you for saving my master. Please follow me, doctor."

A bit puzzled, I took off my hat and coat and followed the butler to a tea room. For a Lord's tea room, the chamber I entered was very simple in interior design and furniture, but of exquisite quality. Two sofas, a pair of armchairs, a tea table stood on an expensive carpet, probably Indian. A marble fireplace on the wood covered wall completed the impression of understatement elegance I had. I sat down on one of the sofas and waited for the reappearance of Mr Lloyd Irving, chamberlain, with some tea which somehow had been sent to the room before we even entered. The man had left me in the room to wait until he gathered the things his master had requested. Looking around, I noticed another portrait, which hung above the mantelpiece. This one showed a young man in the full dress uniform of a member of the Royal Guards, and I wondered who all these men on the portraits in the house were. One thing I knew however, the three portraits were by the same hand, and that I've seen similar paintings before, but I could not remember where. Dwelling on the subject, I nearly didn't notice the butler returning.

"I am sorry to keep you waiting, doctor, but you may understand that it is not all that easy to please a female master. Especially if it is about her wardrobe." Irving stood just by the door, a travelling bag in his hand.

"Indeed." I rose from my seat and followed the man back to the door where he gave me the bag and a small package. "What is in the box?"

Irving smiled fondly. "Chocolates. Our master has a big sweet tooth. Anyway, if you ever are in need of something, never forget that a friend of our master is a friend of the Irving Family."

"A… friend of the master?" I was confused.

Still smiling, the Chamberlain handed me the medallion, which I put into my watch-pocket. "This medallion is proof enough that she considers you a friend. I do not really know how she is able to judge people so quickly and correctly, but nevertheless, she thinks of you as someone worthy of her friendship. I know her since she was born, so you may rest assured that my words are the truth."

I stood there in awe. I hardly knew her, but she thought that I was worth her friendship. "Well, I guess that I should thank her when I return." Suddenly, I remembered the portraits. "Although, before I leave, I have a question: Who are the men on the portrait over there and the one in the tea room? I have the feeling that they look fairly similar in painting style too."

Irving turned his head to the side to take a glimpse at the other portrait in the hall. "Ah, yes, these… The one opposite of Lady Anglesey is the late Commodore Andrew James Llewellyn, 14th Viscount of Anglesey, our master's late father. The one over the mantelpiece in the tea room is the late young master, the younger brother of Lady Anglesey, Captain Allen Llewellyn. May they rest in peace." He sighed. "About the painting style, they look not only similar, they are from the same painter, John Collier. Our last master requested these a few years ago."

"Yes, that explains a lot, thank you." I put on my hat and coat and turned to the door.

The Chamberlain opened it for me and as I was nearly out already, he said, "Doctor Watson, a last piece of advice. Never insult her. Her pride and will are not that of a woman. Many men are more humble than she is, and she has also a right to be like that, for it is the last thing which is left from her bloodline. Whoever insults or offends her will suffer at the blade that her mind is."

"I will remember your words, Mr Irving, thank you. Good morning."

"I hope you will have a nice day, sir." And so the ebony door closed behind me. My head spinning from all the new information, I went down to Piccadilly and hailed a cab to Baker Street.

* * *

**AN: I know, it's not much, only another introduction... Be patient please! Next Moon, "The Taste of Tragedy" will see some more verbal action! Promise!  
About Lady Llewellyn, she is a "Peeress in her own right", a Title holder, who has (at this point in history) a seat in the House of Lords and thus is commonly/occasionally referred to as "Lord Anglesey" (A reference to her title, not herself). If you wanted to refer to her specifically, of course, you'll use "Lady" Anglesey and "Viscountess".  
It was a common misconception at that point in history to say "Lady X" and meaning "the wife of Lord X". So I let Holmes refer to her title to give right to one who has his/her own right. Also, Llewellyn refers to herself as "Viscount", not ****"Viscountess" (although it is not completely right, according to** **»Debrett's Correct Form«) to indicate that _she_ is in charge of the title and her family.**  
**VALE! (Latin: See you again!)**

**To you, Addy-kun, THANK YOU for your advice on Victorian English again.**


	5. Moon 3: The Taste of Tragedy

**Disclaimer: Well, I don't need one, technically - Sherlock Holmes is public domain by now.**

**AN: I am very sorry for the giant hiatus… I, well, essentially, was not getting anywhere with this story, and lately came to the conclusion to change a major part of the premise. Plus, unlike all my later stories (especially my Doctor Who rewrite), it isn't fleshed out at all and it's all more or less original, so… I was more than just a little stuck, at a sentence about garlic no less (lol).**

**This is not beta-read, as my beta seems to have disappeared, so I apologise if it all will be more modern in speech than it should be. (Anyone out there to beta, I'd appreciate it! I hate working alone.)**

* * *

**Moon 3: The Taste of Tragedy**

I arrived at Baker Street with a rather troubled mind, for I was unsure if Holmes' usual distrust and coldness towards the fairer sex would be enough to upset or even insult her, as her chamberlain had put it: _"Doctor Watson, a last piece of advice. Never insult her. Her pride and will are not that of a woman, in the best sense. Many men are more humble than she is, and she has also a right to be like that, for it is the last which is left from her bloodline. Whoever insults or offends her will suffer at the blade that is her mind."_

As I entered the living room with the bag Llewellyn's butler gave me for his master, Holmes was wandering in circles around the sofa our client was sitting on cross-legged, a blanket covering her lap. "This makes absolutely no sense, Milady. Who would be brave or foolish enough to attack »The Great Raven«, not to mention a Ceaseless?"

Lady Llewellyn shook her head. "I have no idea, unfortunately. I only know three things: it was a man, a coward and a vampire. And also, I will never forget his scent…"

"Scent?" I asked, surprised, placing the bag beside her on the sofa. Afterwards I sat down in my favourite armchair, facing her.

She smiled, and it was not a pleasant smile, more like that of a beast of prey, speaking of danger. "Scent, aura, call it as you like, Doctor. A human's scent and sense of smell is not even half as strong as a vampire's, but it tells in both cases a lot of things. A high-ranked vampire is identified by an aura reeking of his personality and some flower, jasmine in my case since I am a Ceaseless. Decay is a scent only found on vampiric minions, ghouls if you will. And there is the smell of those who prey on innocent, which reeks of evil."

My friend stopped in his circles and turned to her, curious. "What was your attacker's scent, My Lady?"

The Peeress's smile faded in an instant and her face became grim. Disgust was reflected in her eyes. "I will _never_ forget that scent. It stank of evil, greed, lust for power, hatred, corruption of the mind and roses."

"That is a lot to smell in someone's scent, Milady. Anything else?" he asked, with his back facing her now.

She closed her eyes, concentrating. "This is difficult in my current state of anaemia… but I remember something like… jealousy… But then again, who on earth would be jealous of me?!" She was most certainly bewildered.

"Interesting. Both Jealousy and Hatred need personal information and connections. We may surely exclude that it was a stranger or a target of you as a Thief. But maybe we are the ones tricked and it was all a scheme of yours to get in here." He whirled around and fixated her, now openly showing his mistrust for her intelligence and her sex.

"I beg your pardon!" she hissed icily, eyes narrowed and glowing.

Returning her sharp voice, he said, "One has to question your motives once he knows _what_ and _who_ you are. I wonder why a woman of your cunning is getting attacked so easily on _our_ doorstep."

"My cunning, all right… Be grateful Mr Holmes that I _am_ a Shinso; otherwise you would be lunch by now. Why the good Lord should I risk my life only for getting entry into your rooms? You know all too well what I am capable of." I shuddered as her voice became as keen as a blade. Suddenly, I had the vision of the two fencing instead of arguing. And somehow Holmes was at a disadvantage.

In an attempt to parry the counter, he answered, "Actually, I _don't_ know what you are _truly_ capable of. You and your entire kind are an enigma to me. A myth long forgotten to the minds of men. To find _any_ trustable fact is impossible."

Llewellyn arched _both_ her eyebrows. "Impossible is nothing. Only hard to proof and explain. And I spoke of my abilities as _Raven_." Again, she used an intonation which reminded me of the freezing cold outside. Before I could interfere, however, she spoke again, this time in an overly polite and flat tone. "Or are you simply mistrusting me because I am a _woman_ who is actually not one who will bend to your will, dear sir?" I knew all too well from my Army days that this was the way a noble displayed his contempt for someone, being so polite that it hurt.

Again I wanted to end this, I couldn't stand it. Holmes, who was, despite his mistrust towards women in general, always gentle and civil to them, was openly attacking a female verbally. And his opponent was not one who would simply give up for peace's sake but fight back. I got up and wanted to shout that it was enough, but then, my friend grimaced a little. "Touché, My Lady. I mistrust women altogether, for I know what they can make of a man, to what lengths a man will go for the sake of a woman."

With gritted teeth, showing her fangs openly, she answered, "I know what misery and mistreatment men can and will cause to so many women in this world or make them do for them, but I never lost faith in men. I do not mistrust a male because he is male. Even Schiller had more faith in human beings than you, and he was the one, who said _»Jedoch der schrecklichste der Schrecken/ Das ist der Mensch in seinem Wahn! / Weh' denen, die dem Ewigblinden/ Des Lichtes Himmelsfackel leihn! Sie strahlt ihm nicht, sie kann nur zünden/ Und äschert Städt' und Länder ein«. _I am surprised how you are able to survive in a world in which emotion rules supreme." She crossed her arms.

"Women!" hissed he. "I am curious which woman had ever hurt you so much that you mistrust the entire sex," smirked she.

That was too much. "Enough!" yelled I, not even caring about the consequences anymore as I stepped between them, directly in the line of fire. "You two, would you just be so kind to stop this nonsense! Holmes, for God's sake, stop insulting her! And you, my Lady, I know that his behaviour upsets you, but you should know better than loosing your composure to some petty accusations and wasting your currently very little energy reserves on him."  
I will _never_ forget Holmes' face on that day. I usually prefer to keep my temper for myself, but this… duel… was too much. Holmes was facing an equal in terms of intellect but superior on the fields of emotions, and the stubborn quarrel he willingly engaged with the Lady in was like fighting each other while falling down into an abyss. I couldn't stand it, so I intervened and gained an intrigued face by the Lady and a bewildered expression of my friend. But with my blood boiling and my body shaking with anger, I didn't care an ounce about it; he went too far. "This absolutely, consequently leads to nothing!"

Holmes was still taken aback. "Watson…"

Heavily sighing, however, Llewellyn got up with an unsteady footing and tapped back into the room she was currently occupying. With a quiet click, the door closed behind her.

Still trembling, I turned back to Holmes. "What the Good Lord was that… provocation for?!"

Silence was all that answered. My ever so stoic, self-controlled companion had lost his composure. After a couple of long minutes, he answered, "I don't know…"

He sat down. Clearly, he was absolutely lost, and I wondered how many times she had been able to get past his defences today. "Just what is wrong with you? You never get so agitated by a woman, usually. And don't say it's because she's a Vampire."

Holmes closed his eyes in an attempt to hide his confusion, but his pressed lips and clenched fists betrayed his inner turmoil. "Really? What do we know about her, Watson? She's a beast of prey among humans." His voice grew impatient, irritated with every word. "Under normal circumstances we would never meet her _and_ learn her secret!"

"Holmes–"

"Enough." The storm of emotions disappeared as he picked up his cocaine bottle and syringe to indulge another round of the strong narcotic. "I believe you got a patient to attend, my friend."

I cursed, frustrated. Having one of that kind of person around all day was already stressing, but two? When I would run out of energy actually? Such were my thoughts as I made my way towards the guest room.

SHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSH

Inside, Lady Llewellyn sat in bed, leaning against the wall. She was breathing rather heavily. "Are you alright, Your Ladyship?"

"No… and I must apologize for my earlier behaviour, Doctor, but… he makes my blood boil – or rather, what is left of it." She inclined her head. "Think nothing of it, Dr Watson."

"Is there anything else I can do for you, Your Ladyship?" I asked.

She turned her gaze towards the window and the faint light of the winter day. "Actually, Doctor, yes, there is something as long as it is not too much trouble… I need a towel, two albino rabbits and a razor."

"What?!" I gasped faintly in surprise.

She smiled at me sweetly. "Did I not mention earlier that I would need something to restore my strength a bit, Doctor? I certainly do _not_ want to rely on _your_ blood, dear sir."

I had to admire her. Her concern for me surpassed her thirst for blood, for the essence of her… existence and power, and secretly, I wondered if even one of the stories you hear as a child about vampires was true at all. So dryly, I replied, "I take it you need them alive, Milady."

The smile widened into a faint grin before it died altogether. "An old rule of vampirism is never to feed upon the dead. It's sacrilegious and the most deadly of all poisons for a lower vampire. It even stuns a Shinso, and besides, feeding upon the dead makes one no better than a fiend."

"I see… if the question is allowed, how do you feel about… garlic?" I knew it was a bit ridiculous, but I simply needed to know.

She blinked, once, twice. Then, out of nowhere, she threw her head back and laughed heartily. Finally she answered, "Actually, I have a certain inclination towards garlic in oil as sauce with grilled fish. The whole garlic thing is true superstition, Doctor. Especially when you talk to a Shinso woman."

"Oh. And why?"

"First, I have told you before that a vampire's sense of smell is quite keen; just imagine how easy you are to find if you reek of garlic! And second, most stories you hear about vampires are about minions: vampires without a living soul, less than a shadow or a ghoul… but this is really not the time for these things." She made a pained grimace. "I really do not want to sound like a lowlife minion, but I am really drained, and it does not feel pleasant."

"Very well then." Thinking about it, it occurred to me that it would maybe better to send Holmes to fetch the vampiric breakfast of the Shinso; leaving these two alone was not a good idea by now. "I'm sure that Mr Holmes would do you the favour to get these ones. He needs some fresh air anyway."

"I can imagine." I turned to the door. "Anything else, Your Ladyship?"

"Yes. I'd like to have that box of chocolates my chamberlain gave you, and could you please ask that sweet Housekeeper of yours to help me dress?"

"Of course." I smiled and returned to the living room where Holmes was lying in his typical comatose, cocaine-hazed fashion on the sofa. Again. Sighing, I rang for Mrs Hudson and asked her to help our guest with getting dressed and bring her the chocolate. Afterwards, I picked up the Times, sat down in my armchair opposite of Holmes and waited for his awakening. "Honestly, my friend, I wonder how long you will keep up this self-destructive behaviour, even in the face of the maybe ultimate case of your life…" Sighing, I opened the newspaper at the pages for everyday politics.

After I finally lost interest into the quarrels of Her Majesty's government, Holmes stirred and groaned. "Ah, back to the land of the living at last, my friend?" I quipped.

He massaged his skull to fight the upcoming headache and depression, coming down from his high. "Very funny," he grumbled as he realized the joking reference to our client.

"Well, I figured you could need some fresh air and more information about our guest than the usual records… would you have the kindness to run an errant for me? I have a patient to watch."

"What is it?"

"Buy two healthy and well-sized Albino rabbits. Still alive."

"Why would you need that, Watson?"

"Earlier, she requested something to replenish her strength a bit but she didn't want to rely on our blood and suggested the rabbits."

Putting away the cocaine, he sighed but nodded. "Fine, I will go, but keep your revolver on you at all times Watson."

"I will, although I doubt that will help." I went to my desk and pulled out the weapon, loaded it and placed it into the pocket of my jacket. Afterwards, I returned to the living room. "Satisfied?"

Holmes stood up and nodded. "Be wary of her, my dear Watson. Very wary." Then, he went to his room, dressed, and was out of the house in record time.

I shook my head at his antics. He really needed a better stimulus in such times than the various narcotics he took in – I had given up smoking regularly a year ago, considering its toll on the body, but Holmes made a point in using everything the market had for stimulation from A to Z, just for not being bored or idle. But then again, he mistrusted women. Knowing though that he would take his sweet time to gather what was needed; I headed back to our guest's room, where a rather disturbing sight met my eyes. Writhing in pain, and covered with cold sweat, Llewellyn was fighting the impulse to lose consciousness. As I stepped closer to help, she yelled, "Stay away!" Her voice was hoarse, weak and strained from the effort.

"Milady, I just want to help," I answered, just like I would tell a sick child. Obviously, she was as addicted to her self-control as good Holmes was; most likely a result of being brought up as an heiress, a woman in a man's place.

"It is not I you should be concerned about doctor, but your own safety. I really don't want to bite you in a reflex… currently, you smell…" she grimaced, fighting something like a blush.

"What do I smell like, Milady Vampire?" I was actually curious what a Shinso, a True Ancestor could smell and thus would think of me.

She groaned. "Like a state banquet. You are definitely a good person, Doctor Watson. So please, for both our sakes…"

"That will never do, milady. You are suffering a fever and painful spasms induced by it."

"Always the doctor, until the bitter end…" Her breathing was heavy. "Fine. I am in your hands." Suddenly, she fell backwards, surrendering herself to the darkness.

As soon as it seemed secure, I checked her over. She was indeed burning up, so I rang for Mrs Hudson and let her bring some towels and cold water; soothing the ache and the heat. She had to be completely drained… of what, I still didn't know though. "Hurry up Holmes…"

Even unconscious, the young lady was not at ease. Her face was creased in stress, and she kept fidgeting. All I could do seemed not enough, but on the other side, I surely didn't want to end up as lunch, so I kept up my wary ministrations for what seemed to be hours.

Steps on the staircase woke me from an involuntary nap. I yawned and stretched as I recognized the shuffling footsteps and the careless treatment of a without a doubt very fine pair of shoes. Making sure that she still was asleep, and the fever had died, I pulled the door open. "Holmes, you are too loud for comfort," I complained.

"Do you know how difficult it is to find something which is normally used only by illusion artists?" he grumbled back, putting down a cage with the required rabbits onto the couch table.

Typical for my friend, especially around a woman again. And I had the feeling that the next confrontation was just a few minutes away. "Get me a few clean towels and a shaving knife, will you." I picked up the cage. "I am in the guest room."

Holmes muttered under his breath and disappeared into the general direction of the bathroom.

**WwWwWwWwWwWwWwWwWwWwWwWwWwWwWwW**

"Milady. Please wake–"

Llewellyn woke with a start, eyes glowing briefly and an air of general confusion around her. "What, where? Oh, it is you, Doctor…"

I put the cage onto the nightstand. "Lunch is ready, Milady."

Just then, Holmes appeared with the shaving kit, placing it just beside the vampire's prey.

The smile she displayed was somewhat implacable to me, but I am certain that my good friend and flat-mate figured it out. "Thank you gentlemen." With an effort to stay independent, she slid backwards and leaned against the headboard.

Holmes shrugged. "Milady."

Llewellyn took out one of the rabbits, and now I saw why she requested a razor – biting into fur was not exactly appetizing indeed. Shaving the neck of the animal, its white hairs fell onto the towel, then… a short moment of struggle, and then nothing, only the sound of her drinking blood. The rabbit was dead, and I was certain that now even a Jewish would eat it; it was bloodless, if the paled skin around the neck was any indicator. Repeating the process quickly, she afterwards wrapped the carcasses into the towel, which confirmed my suspicion about the blood amount of the poor animals: no drop had been wasted. Llewellyn breathed audibly, trying to rein in her thirst. "Thank you again gentlemen, I am much better." She put the dead animals back to the nightstand, towel and all.

"Looks like we'll have rabbit for dinner Holmes," I joked, a bit uneasily.

"Indeed… Just for interest Milady Vampire… what is your usual prey?" Holmes, who had watched the strange scene with scientific interest, was utterly curious, and I admit that this interested me too, in a terrifying way. After all, her "usual prey", as Holmes called it… were most likely fellow human beings.

Blinking slowly, she answered just as slowly, "Murders, Blackmailers, Rapists, and above all, suicidal people. One would not want them to go to _Gehenna_ for taking their own lives. The others… if you or Scotland Yard won't get them, I will without fail. But at my rank, the need to feed is greatly diminished, just about once every two months or so to maintain sanity and power."

"Interesting…"

"To be more precise, it should be called the need to _KILL_. My maker had been so powerful she needed to kill only once a month, prior to her passing into eternity." Llewellyn shook her head. "It is possible to feed without killing the human but… who would do this willingly?"

"What do you refer to, Milady?" Holmes asked, intrigued.

"To feed a vampire, basically being a slave, or a member of the vampire's court." She turned her eyes to the side. "In ancient times, some vampires shared their homes with humans who donated, provided a reliable blood source in exchange for the protection of the vampire. But this was rare even then. Nowadays such offerings are considered displays of friendship, trust and even affection." She sighed. "I wish I could hunt. Weather is ideal…"

"Oh?" I wish I had less restraint that very moment, as Holmes had set out another provocation. But I shouldn't have worried.

"Late autumn, and winter in general, is the season for suicide and murder," she answered laconically.

While I gaped at the idea, Holmes arched simply an eyebrow. "It is."

Mrs Hudson chose that very moment to announce lunch.

**Food Food Food Food Food Food Food Food Food Food Food Food**

Lunch had been a strange affair, as Llewellyn and I had chatted about politics, the world and generally everything else, while Holmes, usually never short a comment, had seemed more interested in the endeavour of forcing himself to eat. After lunch, the three of us sat down in the living room, the lady idly plundering the chocolates her chamberlain had added to her luggage. Searching the meagre information we had on the Guild, Holmes sat at his crowded desk.

As the air in the room was not quite comfortable to breathe, I ventured to open a window. Immediately, a sharp late autumn gust pushed it wide open, causing a glowing ember to be blown up, right into the direction of Lady Llewellyn. Her reaction was immediate, as she nearly toppled over at trying to get out of the way of the airborne flame. Hastily, I rushed back and helped her back onto the chesterfield. "Are you alright, milady?"

"_Keep that away from me_!" She shuddered, her arms wrapped around her lanky frame.

Holmes had reacted quickly, and used yesterday's edition of The Sun to beat out the flame that now had singed the carpet. "Fire?"

"Only weakness of a Ceaseless Pureblood apart from exsanguination and silver compounds. Young Shinso, such as I, are also vulnerable to decapitation. And if you haven't awakened in full, you can drown too," she explained, shaking her head as if to clear it. "We are born of darkness and ice and mist, so fire, which bites more than the sun's glare, is our death."

Abandoning his search, Holmes sat down in his armchair, faced our supernatural client and studied her. "But even with that in mind, your reaction was rather extreme, milady."

I nodded slowly. "Fearing fire is instinct to humans, and given what you just said, even more to a vampire, but… could it be that your current physical state makes you susceptible to succumbing to mere instinct far more easily?"

Llewellyn tore her gaze away from us, embarrassed. "_Rem acu tetigistis_, kind sirs. I have never felt so weak in my second life before," she complained.

Holmes bit his lip deep in thought; after a while then, he made a decision. Standing in front of her, he rolled up his sleeve, offering his right forearm, hand in a fist. "Gathering on this, it would take weeks for you to recover if you rely on livestock. Take it."

To say she was shocked would have been understatement in all its glory. Finally, she asked an absolutely unexpected question. "Have you ever killed someone in cold blood, for revenge or personal gain? To wrongfully right a wrong with another wrong? Before I bite into something that could taint my aura with the stench of touching an innocent. Even if willingly, as a gift… I'd rather not risk this."

Obviously remembering, Holmes closed his eyes. Things which were before our partnership most likely. "There had been a time… when I took the law into my own hands, Milady. There had been a time once… when I could have become a _thief_. So yes, there _is_ blood on my hands."

After a period of consideration, fixating the offered arm, she nodded curtly. "Very well. But I suggest you rather sit down."

"Certainly." Holmes pulled up a chair in front of her and held out his offering again.

With slightly shaking hands she took the arm and whispered, "Forgive me, Lord, for I am about to sin." Then, she lifted his wrist to her lips and bit down… But not even taking more than a single swallow, her eyes opened and she tossed my friend's arm back to him in horror. "How? Why? Why are you doing this to yourself?" Shrinking in on herself, her hands clenched her temples in terror. "Why are you so intent on destroying yourself?"

The puzzlement on my friend's face was genuine, not quite understanding why she had suddenly flinched back from his offer; however, I had an inkling of what horrified her like that: my friend's habits.

In a horrendous display of callousness, Holmes retorted sharply, "So? It is my life, and I will do with it as I please."

"You have no idea!"

"And you do?" scoffed he, turning away. "_Mrs. Hudson!_" yelled he, leaving the room.

Just then, the air in the room seemed to freeze in a sudden chill. "More than you will ever know, foolish _mortal_. More than you will ever know," she whispered after him.

* * *

**AN: Translation of the German quote of Schiller: ****_Yet the most horrible of horrors/ Is man in his deluded state. Woe's them, who heaven's torch of lighting/ Unto the ever-blind doth lend! / It lights him not, 'tis but igniting, /And towns and lands to ash doth rend._**


End file.
